


De La Capat

by adoropomodoro



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Artsy, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, References to Drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 17:32:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19795657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adoropomodoro/pseuds/adoropomodoro
Summary: Vlad hates Elizaveta almost as much as she hates him, but the passion, the electricity, is undeniable. It sustains them and breaks them down into fractions of themselves.A compilation of angsty and somewhat artsy midnight drabbles, with HungaryxRomania in focus, with a side of BelarusxRomania.





	1. The way you cause me pain

**Author's Note:**

> Reposting this from my acc on FF - sincerely enjoy this wild ride into my 3am brain. Small changes has been made, but I don't anticipate the exact same crowd to see it on here (especially bc FF is kinda dead idk).

**"Slow burn"**

* * *

Grey smoke circled off into the cooling midnight air, filtering the last rays of sunlight, desperately clinging to the world which was ready to slumber. He took another drag of the cigarette, studying the cracks in the concrete under his old, worn out shoes. His eyelids were heavy, his eyes red, tired and swollen. He reeked of liquor, smoke and broken hearts. The music still streamed out of the open windows of floor five, and he took a glance at the plate on the bus stop announcing the remaining time to wait, realizing he had about fifteen minutes to change his mind. But he stood still, as if his feet had grown together with the grass and the weeds that had begun to stick up through the God forsaken pavement.

Yet, he never once doubted he had made the right decision. He simply couldn't seem to make up his mind about the certain people demanding his ever-loving attention, so leaving them both behind and moving on as definitely the wisest decision. Nevertheless, he felt like he was going to miss the thrill. He did not regret anything, but the need of going back up there and putting things right was an urge strong enough to ache in his every bone.

He picked up his phone and threw a glance over the screen. No new messages. No voice-mails left. No missed calls. He unlocked the screen with one finger while lighting another cigarette, the last one squashed on the pavement beneath his shoe. He scrolled through his contact list quickly, ignoring the most recent numbers. Francis Bonnefoy. Exactly the person he needed.

The Frenchman answered after three signals had beeped in Vlad's ear. "'Allo?"

"I'm trying to get my mind of relationships for a while, what can I do?"

The French chuckled in his ear. "Get wasted."

Vlad smiled crookedly for himself. "Really? But I've been binging all day already."

"Then do a little more, you sound sober enough for another round." A shuffling was heard in the background and Francis' voice was tinted with slight impatience. "Listen, I'd take you for a round but I'm, uh, occupied. Call Arthur. He's just as lonely and slightly more pathetic. And he could be your designated driver, you know how he is."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll probably just try to get as far away from west end as possible. Can't stand the thought of having a walking distance to them."

"I get you. Take care, alright?"

"Yah. Bye." He said, trying not to sound too disappointed. Just as he finished off his other cigarette, he saw the lights of the bus as it turned 'round the corner of the street.


	2. The way you fuck me up

**"But I really think it's better this way"**

* * *

Vlad he always considered himself to be a romantic guy. However, when it came to her, the mere thought of acting romantically disgusted him. She didn't deserve that, yet he wanted to give her the world.

One time, after another one of their arguments ending up with their clothes on the floor, he had actually told her what he thought about this whole situation that happened more and more often. Sometimes he even believed she started arguments just so they would sleep together. Of course, both of them would rather die than admit it.

"What are we even doing?" He spoke, his voice a weak shadow of what he had had in mind. The response was as expected.

"How the fuck should I know? Guess you just adore me naked." Typical her to mix narcissism and sarcasm.

"Ditto, bitch." He muttered and arose from the bed he had become quite accustomed to by now. His clothes went on in a swift movement, and it wasn't until he had his hand on the apartment door that she spoke up.

"Don't."

He stopped in the motion, his hand still resting on the door handle. Without turning around to look, he knew she was standing behind him.

"Why?"

He could almost hear her thoughts processing, wondering what to say next that would hurt him the most. Thing was, it would probably hurt her as much.

"Because this is the way it has to be." Her hand grasped onto his shirt, her grip weak for once, and his spirit turned just as weak by her light touch. He chewed on his lip, closing his eyes for a second before turning 180 degrees.

Let me inside your twisted mind for just one second. 

Her emerald eyes met his copper ones, in something that could only be compared to a mental fist fight or a tearful embrace. They were never sure what they actually were to each other, but they both absolutely knew what they were together.


	3. The way you draw me in

**"Such a heavenly way to die"**

* * *

"Do you ever miss her?"

Vlad took an extra long drag from his cigarette to avoid answering the question, but her green eyes were fixed on his face from the other end of the couch. "I don't know. Maybe."

That felt like a lie, because she still haunted his mind with those icy eyes of hers that could suck a man's soul out if they wanted to. But did he miss her? No more than he missed Elizabeta, whose eyes were still fixed on him with that annoying face she made when she couldn't figure him out.

"Of course you fucking do. You're so predictable, Vlad."

"Shut up about things you don't know shit about."

"Make me."

Why am I still here? Why won't I just walk away?

His lips met hers as he pulled her underneath him in one swift movement, and the heat of her body radiated through their clothes that she was removing along with him. There was not one centimetre of her that he didn't know, not one inch that he didn't crave, not anything that he would change. Her slender fingers dug into his strawberry blonde locks, and travelled down his back as his shirt met the floor. Between them was a hunger, a starvation that neither of them could or wanted to extinguish. A wild need, a primal sensation that left them feeling hollow, carved out inside. They were only whole and functioning like this, in a passionate chaos.

But after chaos comes the aftermath, two broken souls in the debris of their dysfunctional world.

"Don't ever leave me."

It wasn't a plea. It was an order.

"Then don't insist on kicking me out and bitching about it later."

Her fingers trailed along his spine in a rare moment of purity between them. His eyes locked on hers, and for a second they could both almost pretend that they weren't stuck with each other in this power play that could only lead to disaster.

"You can stay this once."


	4. The way you can't let me go

**"Nobody else touches me like you"**

* * *

The flame from the small lighter that barely worked anymore lit up his face, allowing her to study his complexion for just a sly second before all that was left from the light was the glowing tip of the cigarette between his lips. She briefly touched her own lips, thinking back to earlier, when they were on his. Red coloured her cheeks lightly, but she had trouble figuring out exactly why. She came here only to watch the pathetic mess of a loser that she had decided to never talk to again, but while she stood there in the rain pressed against the corner of a building for some sort of protection from the weather, something resembling regret started to form in her mind. Alone, he looked lost and vulnerable. The blushing of shame replaced the one before it, and she lowered her eyes, not being able to stand the sight of him.

Why was he even outside at this hour, in the rain? Maybe he had nowhere to go. Maybe he was lonely, just as lonely as she suddenly felt. Maybe all he needed was a friend, and maybe she could try better to be that friend. Well, who was she kidding now, really? Yes, she was an awesome friend in general, but to him? He brought out only the worst in her. Still, she knew she couldn't be without that fool for too long.

She was torn from her thoughts when the light went on by the door of the house he was standing outside of. Elizabeta's eyes fixed onto the tall and slender figure who opened the door for Vlad. The light behind her made her features hard to distinguish, but she knew exactly who it was. Her breath caught in her throat and created a puff of condensation before her as she breathed out in frustration and whatever else she was feeling, the rain pouring down heavier as she watched him toss his cigarette in a puddle and walk in.

He fucking did it. He went back to her.

.

Everyone could see what they were to each other. Everyone but them of course. It wasn't unusual to find them both missing whenever they all convened, only to have them later return, shirts crumpled, hair in a smoothed-out mess.

"Tell me you want me," he teased with his lips against her neck, one particularly amazing evening. They hadn't argued at all yet today. Surely, he thought this would set ablaze a hellfire of rage from the brunette, but she just laughed airily and grabbed his hair, maybe a little bit too rough, to push his head farther down to her collarbones. He salvaged every kiss and every mark he could leave on her soft skin, to keep for rainy days and all the times he was convinced he hated her guts. Everyone needed reminders sometimes.

Her grip on his hair turned softer in comparison to his tightened grip on her waist. Closeness, they needed closeness. Faster, harder, more.

The cool midnight air around them didn't matter, even less than the bustling midnight city life beneath. She pushed him into the high enough railing in a passionate kiss on the lips, and he was thankful that he wasn't afraid of heights because she surely wasn't, and wouldn't care if he was either.

"Touch me like only you do."

"I wish I was the only one who did," he let his thoughts slip out, and immediately regretted it as she stopped, took a step back, and looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Tell me you didn't say that," she spat.

Vlad opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. Her gaze turned colder, harsher, and he responded with the same, pushing himself off the fence he'd been leaning against, defying her emerald eyes.

"Whatever," he muttered as he started walking off, turning his back on her. This was not a fight he wanted to have now, or ever, and he cursed himself inwardly for not better controlling his tongue.

"Don't you dare walk away from me!"

Her voice was like a glass shard cutting through the midnight air, but he knew her well enough to hear the tint of desperation on it. He kept walking, but she didn't follow. Maybe this was the moment he'd been waiting for? The opportunity to leave, his escape route out of whatever twisted, undefined thing they had between them. She called after him again, but he was already entering the stairwell, making his way down the steps with swift, light footsteps. He felt good and chaotic, horrible and blissful. Stopping before the elevator doors on the next floor, he briefly met his own, hollow, gaze in the reflection as he waited for it to arrive. The fingers that he ran through his disheveled hair felt uncertain, clumsy, trembling. He picked up his phone as he entered the elevator, making sure to press the button that closed the doors. Elizabeta was nowhere to be seen in the stairwell as the doors slid closed in a soft whoosh.

Where u at man? Wanna hang?

He stared at the dots jumping around at the screen, waiting for the Frenchman's reply while casting a look at the numbers descending on the panel on the wall. The dots stopped and his phone purred in his hand.

Chez Natalya. What's up?

Vlad put his phone back into his jeans pocket and strode out of the elevator perhaps a little bit too hasty, signalling for a taxi outside the house before the door behind him had even closed. Rain had started trickling down from the darkening sky, and he found his mind wander to the brunette on the top of the roof, who by the looks of it was still there. He didn't want to talk to his ex about his ex, or whatever this weird constellation was at this point, but Francis knew what to do. Vlad had no clue.


	5. The way that we are and always will stay

**"Stop me if you think you've heard this one before"**

* * *

The music was pounding, deep and heavy electro beats seeping out of the back door that stood ajar, and Vlad desperately sucked the last out of his cigarette, throwing the butt into a corner of the courtyard. He took a big gulp of his drink, not really remembering or caring what it contained anymore.

"I feel so fucking goooood!" he proclaimed a little too loudly as if to convince himself. He wasn't successful. Francis handed him the dope and he breathed in the substance, holding it in for a while before releasing it with a low hum. Unpleasant memories flickered by as his brain was lit ablaze before he was enveloped in a blanket of bliss. No more Natalya. No more Eliza. No more. Not now.

"Hey man what are you – ew, what are you doing with the frog?" Arthur had entered the windy courtyard and immediately halted at the sight of the smirking Frenchman. But before further conflict could arise he sighed, shrugged, and took a seat on a protruding part of the façade. "Oh blast it. I suppose I'll be seeing more of you now that you've seduced that poor Canadian."

"I can assure you; it is 100% consensual, mon ami."

"Better bloody hope so, 'ami'. Can't understand what he sees in you anyways, you sly prick." Arthur huffed and took a swig of his beer. Vlad read 3,5% on the label. How do you even procure something that simple in a place like this? He was vaguely aware that Arthur was looking at him. "So how are you doing, old chap?"

Vlad's toothy smile and tired eyes was all that the Brit needed to see to know. "Blimey Francis, what have you given him? He's positively bombed."

"I suppose smoking like a chimney and drinking like a fish doesn't help," Francis shrugged, looking considerably less stoned than Vlad was feeling. "But he needs a break, Arthur dear, let him."

He pretended not to hear that last thing.

.

The morning light stung in his eyes as he felt the hangover creep over him like a wet blanket. He was probably still a little bit high from yesterday, but he saw clearly when he forced his eyes to open. The doorbell rang with a shrill, ear-splitting noise and he grunted. That's what woke him up.

"Fucking chill," he muttered under his breath as he reached for some pants or something to wear to avoid answering the door in the nude. He wasn't quite fucked up enough to do that.

The doorbell was persistent and was now ringing constantly. He marched up, practically jogged, to the door and tore it open to reveal that fucking Hungarian. He sighed, internally and externally, and damn near slammed the door shut again, only being hindered by her hand on the door, pressing her way into his small apartment. Silent rage, a tempest of pure frustration and something indiscernible between them.

"Quit eye-fucking me and tell me why you're barging into my home on a fucking Sunday."

She had the decency to look a bit taken aback but quickly retorted. "You fucking dick, how dare you humiliate me like that?"

.

She had screamed at him for a good while, longer than she wanted to keep count of the minutes of. She was angry at him for leaving her on the rooftop, for going over to Natalya's, even after he had explained why, and she was angry at him for just being him. They had screamed, thrown things at each other, and actually come to physical blows. At least he didn't treat her like a girl when they fought, but he of course was no match for her with his small stature and limited combat skills. She felt her cheek ache from a particularly good slap he had managed to get in, but she had done him worse anyways.

All her anger had ran out of her from where she sat in his kitchen. Only a couple of minutes ago she had still been fuming, but now she felt tired. Exhausted, drained, she stood up and walked to the other end of the apartment where she took a seat next to him on the small, quaint balcony he had, facing the sea. She heard his breath hitch in his throat when she entered the balcony, and he unsuccessfully hid it behind a cough.

"No fucking more," he muttered, his voice hoarse from the yelling and the cigarettes he'd been chain smoking ever since he retreated to the balcony. She had no idea where to begin or what to say, so she tucked a lose strand of hair behind her ear in a nervous tick, hoping he wouldn't notice.

"Vlad, I…" she broke off before even starting the sentence. She looked away and then tried again, focusing her gaze on something too far away to see. "I'm sorry about what I said. And what I did. What I've done to you over the past years."

He huffed sceptically and was about to answer when she broke him off. "No, I really mean it."

He went silent for a moment, looking at her, waiting for her to explain. She had nothing to offer, so she simply settled for finally looking him in the eyes, losing herself for a moment in their bronze depth. She felt herself longing. Longing for the love that seemed to elude them. Had they burnt their chances? Had they simply not earned it yet?

"I'm sorry too."

"I still lo…" she started, her words dying on her lips as he grabbed her face and brought in in for a kiss, tasting of nicotine and cherries, and a bit of blood from earlier. She forgot to feel bad for it as she lost herself in the kiss, relishing in how easy it was to love the way he touched her, and the way he made her feel. It was rough and uncertain, yet the most tender moment they had ever experienced, in the blissful and watching eye of the sunset. A peculiar spell had settled between them, as they devoured each other desperately. They needed each other to function, they were a controlled chaos that only they understood. Their hands ran desperately over each other's bodies as they stumbled into the apartment again, cruising between the broken ceramics of a flower pot spread out on the floor and held onto each other as if life itself depended on it. The power was no longer theirs, it never had been. It wasn't about a choice on whether or not to stay with each other in whatever peaceful existence they could muster, it was about needing each other like they needed air to breathe.

"I know," he whispered on her lips as they briefly let go of each other. "Me too."


End file.
